Chapter 14

“So you’re here again,” Sedgewick’s grandmother said when she came downstairs and saw Allison sitting at the kitchen table.

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Child, there couldn’t be anything better. Unless of course that boy of mine is still here.”

“Hi, Gram,” Sedgewick called from the stove, which was just out of his grandmother’s line of sight. “Have a seat, I’m making breakfast.”

“Now this is more like it,” she said, hobbling into the kitchen, her body still stiff and tired. “Breakfast time with my boy and this wonderful girl—and I don’t have to cook.”

She sat down across from Allison, who was cheerful and bright, despite being up earlier than normal. Her hair was in the same ponytail and she was still wearing Sedgewick’s work shirt, but she had managed to find a pair of his pants. Sedgewick stood at the stove, whipping up omelets.

“So were you two out again last night, bothering the local restaurateurs?”

“Yeah, Allison stopped by just before my shift ended and we met at Perkins. It was easier for her to stay here again.”

“Well, we should open a hotel. I didn’t know there were so many college kids looking for a place to stay.” She laughed at her own joke and then turned to apologize to Allison.

“You know I’m kidding, child. We’re happy to have you any time.” She grew quiet and then spoke again more softly, “That kind of kidding is the sort of thing my late husband used to do. I suppose I’m making up for his absence.”

“Gram, I think if grandfather were here he’d be giving you a hard time for your meager kidding. He’d taunt you and ask if that was the best you could do.”

“Yes, I suppose he would.”

“I guess we both make up for him.”

“But you’re so much better at it, child.”

Sedgewick smiled from the stove, remembering his grandfather sitting in the corner where Allison sat now.

“He sounds like an amazing person,” Allison said from her corner, not realizing that she was sitting in his seat.

“He was, dear, he was.”

Sedgewick finished the omelets and brought two plates to the table. He dumped the pot and dirty dishes in the sink.

“I’m going to head upstairs and shower, if you ladies don’t mind. Despite the sleepover, I still—some of us still need to get to class.”

When Sedgewick left his grandmother leaned over and motioned with her head towards where Sedgewick had been standing.

“I think he’s feeling a bit out-numbered, what do you think?” Allison smiled.

“I’m just glad he’s still here.”

“Yes, that is something. Though I’d be a little worried if he managed to sneak away twice.”

“Well, I did catch him in the bathroom this morning, so he could have been plotting something.”

“That would explain the omelets—guilt cooking.” Gertrude smiled, feeling like she was making up for her husband again. “No, I think I see something different in the boy this morning. I think he’s getting used to the idea.”

“The idea? The idea of what?”

“Well, you. I can’t say that he’s brought that many pretty young women home before. I think he’s been trying to figure out what he’s doing, and he might be getting closer.”

Allison didn’t say anything, just took another bite and enjoyed the chance to eat a real, home cooked breakfast. Especially one that Sedgewick had made for her.

“And what about you? How are you doing?”

“What? With Sedgewick? Oh, I don’t know.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking about him, child, but if that’s what you’re thinking about it certainly means something.” Gertrude smiled warmly. “I meant about your mother.”

“Oh, yes.” Allison felt embarrassed.

“I can gather the reasons you spent the night last night were different than they were the night before?”

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” Allison said, putting down her fork to think. How was it that she could have this intimate of a conversation with someone else’s grandmother, someone she just me the day before?

“I’m doing better, with my mom. There are still moments…”

“There will always be moments.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But they’re not as—I don’t know, not as overwhelming as they were at first.” Gertrude flashed her warm smile.

“That’s good, child. That means you’re seeing the good in them, not just the sadness.”

Allison leaned forward, her mind spinning.

“Is that okay, to see goodness?”

“Why yes, it is. If you loved your mother, which I can tell you did—and still do, then those memories should eventually bring you happiness. There will always be sadness at her loss, but at some point you come to a place where the joy of knowing your mother overcomes the pain of losing her.”

Allison nodded, trying to understand it all. It was a lot for her to process, especially after only a few days.

“It’s just so hard to believe. If I hadn’t woken up in this house the past two days, I think I would have forgotten.”

“Oh child, waking up is the worst. We’re so often caught between the waking and the dreaming world that we can hardly remember which is which, and you can’t blame yourself for that. I don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of my husband and rolled over expecting to see him. Or Sedgewick’s father, or my grandchild, or even my daughter—and think how much I’d like to see them that day. And then something, the sun, the cold floor, or a sudden dawning in my head makes me realize that I won’t see them that day, or any day.” She paused for a moment, a tender silence descended on the kitchen.

“The sadness comes back then. Always does.”

“And what do you do? When the sadness comes back?”

“I suppose you want me to say I think happy thoughts and it all goes away? Or I click my heals three times? Oh, I wish it were that easy.”

“I don’t suppose it is, is it?”

“No, it never is. On those days when the sadness comes I embrace it. I let it fill me, let it flood my soul and I wallow in it. Sometimes I cry and wet my pillow with the sadness. But whatever I do I let it run its course, and I’m stronger for it. It’s not weakness to cry or be sad. But it will make you weak to deny those feelings.”

“Those sound like wise words.”

“Well, honey, when you live as long as I do you tend to learn a thing or two. But it only happens from falling down, lest you think I’ve got a big head.”

The two women smiled at each other, sitting there in the warmth of the kitchen, finished with breakfast.

“You said your daughter—was Sedgewick’s mother, was she your daughter?” Sadness entered the room again. Sedgewick’s grandmother didn’t answer at once. Her eyes focused on the distance, far off from the kitchen and that house and that very city.

“Yes, she was. She was my daughter.” Allison didn’t say anything. “I wish I could say she wasn’t, I wish I could say Jackson—Sedgewick’s father—had been my son. He practically was.” She paused again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, it’s okay, child. There’s no sense hiding from any of it.” Allison’s brow wrinkled, and she looked down.

“I suppose if Jackson were my son it would be too easy to be filled with hate. I’d be the over protective mother, extending that feeling to Sedgewick, and I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you, another woman with the potential to hurt my boys.”

Allison smiled at the image, but her smile faded as she realized the greater reality of the situation.

“But no, she was my daughter—is my daughter,” she corrected herself. “And that probably hurts more than anything else, knowing that some of the blame, a portion of the blame might possibly rest with me.”

“No, you can’t possibly blame yourself.”

“But I do child, in some small ways I can’t help but think something I did or didn’t do could have stopped this, could have kept her from leaving. But it’s done now.” She paused again, taking a moment to take drink of orange juice from her mug.

“Her name was Allison, too, you know.”

Allison nodded slowly.

“That doesn’t mean anything, of course, it’s just a fact.” The silence lingered again, and Sedgewick’s grandmother continued filling in the story.

“Sedgewick was just a little boy, 16—18 months old. His brother was just a babe. Allison—their mother, said she had to go the store and she asked me to watch them. It was no problem, nothing out of the ordinary. They lived fairly close and we watched the boys a lot. But that was the day she left.

“Jackson called later that day, asking if we’d seen her. He’d been at his studio and came home to find the place empty. She was gone. I told him she dropped Sedgewick and his brother off and went to run some errands. I told him he could come get the boys if he liked—he was my son-in-law and I often felt like there was that unspoken friction between us. I always tried to defuse it in those early days.

“But he waved me off, told me he’d finish up his work and if Allison hadn’t picked the boys up by supper time he’d come by. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I heard something in his voice, a hint of worry and fear. And he was right, though he didn’t know it then. I often wondered what he painted in those hours of unknowing—he was an artist you know. I wondered what the canvas would look like when he had such doubts and questions in his mind. But if there was a piece that captured that he never told anyone.

“He came over at supper time and neither of us had heard anything. We were starting to get worried at this point. We called the police and called everyone we knew. We went back to their place to look around, and Jackson went to their bedroom. I had Sedgewick in my arms when I heard his cries. My husband and I rushed into the room to find him sitting on the bed, his face buried in his hands. He was crying, tears just streaming down his face.

“We didn’t understand until we looked at the closet. It was wide open, with half the hangers swinging empty and free. The drawers on the dresser in the corner had been pulled open and emptied. She had packed in a hurry and left. Jackson just cried and Sedgewick started to fidget in my arms.

“I always thought that he could hear his daddy and he knew it wasn’t good. And it certainly wasn’t. I never heard from my daughter again after that day.”

She finally stopped, unable to continue. Allison had tears welling in her eyes, completely overwhelmed at the story.

“I don’t know why she left, I’ve never understood that, but I’ve always wished she’d just come home. I’d want to throttle her good, but I’d just take her in my arms.”

She stopped again and Allison reached over to put a hand on Gertrude’s. She smiled, weakly, and reached her other hand over to pat Allison’s hand. Allison looked up to see Sedgewick standing in the doorway. His hair was still wet, a bit tussled, but just as messy as it usually was—just wetter. He had an odd expression on his face, like he hadn’t been listening but somehow knew what they were talking about anyway.

Allison stood up and crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Sedgewick without a word. He hugged her back and looked to his grandmother. She smiled, slow and proud, and then slowly stood and hobbled over to join the hug.

After all of this, Allison took a quick shower and borrowed another one of Sedgewick’s shirts. She was beginning to feel at home in his clothes. The two left for class, turning to wave goodbye to Sedgewick’s grandmother, who stood at the door and watched them go, as if for the last time.